Follow Through the Dark
by almcvay1
Summary: Red discovers a problem at the Post Office and pulls Lizzie out until they can find the threat.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Very first attempt at multi-chapter with actual plot. Beta'd by the lovely _**thefirstfewchapters**_, without whom I would have just thrown poetic phrases around and called it a story. As usual, I own none of this.

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"Get in the car, Lizzie"

She never saw him come up behind her, just felt the bulk and warmth of him against her back, but she would know that voice anywhere. One of his hands gripped her arm as he began to steer her across the parking lot to the waiting Mercedes.

"Red, stop it. Stop manhandling me, damn it!" She twisted in his grip, trying to dislodge his hold to no avail. His arm was an iron band around her back, in his other hand, she saw his Colt .45, with the safety off. He held it down at his side, but his finger was on the trigger.

Something was wrong.

Red isn't looking at her, he isn't speaking. She can feel the tension in his body where it is pressed against her, as though he we shielding her. She recognizes the behavior, straight out of law enforcement 101, "protecting your witness".

Lizzie gets in the car.

Dembe barely waited for the door to close before his foot was on the gas and gravel sprayed as the car accelerated out of the small lot behind the Post Office. Red still had the gun in his hand, though his finger was no longer on the trigger. He still isn't talking. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. The creases around his eyes were more pronounced and his eyes were shadowed. The man was a stone wall. The more Lizzie looked at Red, the less she liked what she saw.

"Red, what's the matter? What's going on?"

"Not right now, Lizzie, let's get to a safe spot and then I'll try to explain."

"Try to explain? Would that be one of those explanations where you tell me about five percent of what you know and keep the rest a secret? Because I don't like those explanations, Red." Lizzie was tired, it had been a long week and all she wanted was a hot shower and some Chinese takeout. Red's idea of giving her information, or rather not giving her information, was a sore spot still between them after the Tom Keen incident and, even if she had forgiven, she had not forgotten. They had had a long conversation him about keeping her in the dark.

He slanted a look at her to say her comment was noted, and a twist of his lips, which she had the unfortunate habit of staring at, let her know he was fully aware of shots fired. He remained silent though and after some mutual glaring, Lizzie retreated to her neutral corner and closed her eyes. Red would talk when he wanted to talk, and not a moment before.

She catnapped during the rest of ride as Dembe drove to the outskirts of Alexandria, a modest suburban neighborhood. He pulled the car into the garage in the back of a grey and white Cape Cod house. Lizzie started to open the door, but Red put a hand on her arm.

"Wait. Dembe will check out the house first."

He didn't say anything else and Lizzie's mind began to spin like a top. Red was usually cautious, that was part of having a running price on his head, but this seemed…different. Her nerves were already shot after everything she had been through for the last month, but she could feel the tension set into her shoulders and neck again. They waited in silence until Dembe reappeared in the doorway and motioned them inside.

Once they were in, Dembe began to unload cases from the car and stack them in the mudroom off the kitchen. Red shrugged off his overcoat and suit jacket, draping them over kitchen chairs. He was wearing a shoulder holster over his vest and dress shirt, that was a new thing, and there were pistols on both sides, so he could draw with either hand. Lizzie pursed her lips, trying to decide if the holster made him appear more or less attractive. She was still pondering a minute later, when he glanced up from what he was doing to catch her staring at him. Again. He gave her the tiniest smirk, his "I see what you're doing there" eyebrow raise. Lizzie rolled her eyes and tried very hard not to blush.

"You can relax now, Lizzie. We are quite safe for now," Red began to methodically check all the window locks and close the curtains. Lizzie shrugged off her suit jacket but kept her shoulder holster on. Red seemed more at ease now, and she hoped that meant that he would be explaining this situation soon.

Dembe had unpacked the computers and Lizzie watched, astonished, as Red, who never so much as indicated he knew how to turn on a computer, began to plug in all the wires and run the power supply to the outlet. She couldn't conceal the surprise, least of all from the man who read her like a picture book. The smirk became a full grin with an accompanying chuckle.

"What, Lizzie? I can't have hidden talents? Not everything about me was in Donald's files."

Lizzie just rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. This was obviously going to take a while.

She sat and studied the two men while the coffee brewed on the counter. Dembe was on the laptop, Red was alternating between paper files and the larger screen of the desktop unit. Neither one seemed particularly in a hurry to explain what was going on. They conversed amongst themselves in low voices. Clearly not including her. Besides being a little rude, it was beginning to get on her nerves. Why the big scene in the parking lot? Was that to convince her to come with them without fussing? She had been patient quite long enough. Time for conversation.

"Red, I need some answers, and then I'm going to need a ride home. I have work tomorrow."

He looked up from the papers he was studying, as if he had forgotten she was there. She could see the wheels turning in his brain as he debated his approach, his strategy for telling her what he wanted her to know.

"You won't be going to work, Lizzie. Not for the rest of the week." She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again as she observes his expression. His face is completely closed. No little smirks or winks or twitches. All of his tells are gone. He was deadly serious about her staying here. And she suspected that he wasn't above cuffing her to a chair. So, let's apply some logic, she thought as she offered him a small smile.

"Red, I am a federal agent; I have to be at work. Otherwise I will be fired. I'm on thin ice as it is after the harbor master incident."

Her voice rose slightly in pitch and volume though she tried hard to keep it steady.

"Sorry, Lizzie, I'm not sending you in there until I find out who is the cat among the pigeons. I called Samar, she'll make your excuses for a few days."

So it was safe enough for Samar, or Aram or Ressler to be at work, but not Lizzie. She could feel the beginnings of a tension headache and she tried to stay calm and rational. Yelling at Red rarely resulted in getting answers.

"Why can't I go to work, Reddington?"

"Because there is something wrong at the Post Office. Something involving people much higher up the food chain than Harold Cooper. Until I know what it is, you aren't safe and neither am I. As of now, we are a package deal, Lizzie."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Beta'd by the lovely and talented **thefirstfewchapters**...thoroughly and completely disclaimed of everything.

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Lizzie sat on the striped sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee cooling in her hand, while Red nursed a glass of scotch as he sat in one of the chairs. He had shrugged off the holster earlier, and his vest was unbuttoned, along with the collar of his shirt. In the lamp light, he looked a little younger than she knew him to be, despite the strain evident in his face. She waited for him to speak, content for now to just study him in repose.

"Someone in the Attorney General's office is throwing monkey wrenches in the works, Lizzie. Tom Keen was never supposed to be set free after the harbor master issue. He was supposed to be released back to the task force, but somehow he went into the wind instead. Another Blacklister, who I've been keeping tabs on for a while, and who I've mentioned to Cooper before, has suddenly pulled up stakes and now is nowhere to be found." Red studied Lizzie in the half light, watching her process all this new information. He adored her intelligence, the way she took everything in and sorted it in her head, like a marvelous mental game of Mousetrap.

"Another mole?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't feel like a mole. These events are small and seem inconsequential, but they're not. I'm starting to see a pattern emerging, and it's beginning to tie into the cabal. Someone knows about that group."

"You think maybe they're trying to expose them?"

"No. I think they want to join them."

"Wait… join them? Can that even be done? According to you, Red, this shadowy group consists of extremely powerful people; I can't imagine them hosting a sign-up event at the local community center." Red's lips twisted in a half-smile at her sarcasm and she couldn't stop herself from giving an answering smirk.

"You are essentially correct. But we know that they have lost at least two members, so they may be "in the market" for people to fill those seats. Having someone in the Attorney General's office would be…useful to them. As would having someone in the Justice Department."

"Or even the FBI?"

"Especially the FBI."

Lizzie sipped her coffee without tasting it as she let his words sink into her mind. None of this made sense at all. It seemed like much more was now in play than just the Fulcrum. The more she considered it, the more worrisome it became to her.

"Red, how much are you not telling me?" She focused in on his face as she asked the question. He held her gaze for a few moments before he rose from his chair to refresh his drink. There was something graceful in the way he poured the scotch, standing by the table with one hand in the pocket of his grey trousers. But she could see the tension in the way he held his shoulders, as though, for once, there was too much weight on them for him to carry alone.

Regardless of how she felt about the fissures he had caused in the dam of her life, she could sympathize with Raymond Reddington at this moment. His persona as the Concierge of Crime was so enormous, so all-encompassing, that sometimes even she forgets he isn't actually superhuman. He was just a man.

Who, right now, was still refusing to tell her everything he knew about their situation.

Lizzie sighed and slid off the couch to dump her cold coffee in the sink. She had enough to get started. She would get more out of him tomorrow. She would let the information he had given her so far settle in her brain overnight. Morning was soon enough to inform Red that she would not be cosseted while he tried to take on the whole world alone. She found herself smiling at the tired figure now slumped in the chair; this time, he wasn't alone.

She turned to the pile of luggage in the mudroom and began to rummage through for something that looked like her bag or her clothes. None of the cases seemed to be hers. The need for a hot shower was becoming more real by the minute, as the headache-dulling caffeine began to wear off. Seriously, they haul a girl off without a warning and can't even bring a set of her pajamas?

"Reddington! Did either of you two geniuses think to pack some clothes or maybe, I don't know, a toothbrush?" Her frustration with the day's events was slowly pushing her temper to the edge. She re-stacked the cases and spun around to find Red in the doorway, holding up her overnight bag.

"I believe you will find what you need in here. Dembe packed for you, he's quite thorough." His tone was mild but filled with reproof, and the tightness of his mouth told Lizzie she wasn't the only one holding on to their temper. She grabbed the case and shot a fulminating look over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs to find a room.

Red's gaze stayed on her as she moved out of sight. He stared at the glass of scotch on the table, and considered the merits of pouring a bit more. It was going to be a very long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: As always, my undying gratitude to **thefirstfewchapters** for her beta work and hand-holding. I own nothing.

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Lizzie woke abruptly, sitting straight up in the surprisingly comfortable bed she had finally crawled into last night. Her eyes flew around the room, trying to identify the source of her agitation. The house was quiet. It was early morning, the light just beginning to make its way through the curtains, the door was closed and no one was in the room with her. Pulling her gun from underneath the pillow, she slipped out of the queen-sized four-poster and into the attached bathroom, weapon at her side. There was no one there either, no sign that anyone had invaded her privacy at all. She checked the closet and underneath the bed. Nothing. She stood in the quiet room, with her finger on the trigger of her pistol, trying to calm her speeding heart.

Had she had a nightmare, perhaps? She tried to recall any of her dreams from last night, nothing seemed odd or scary. No violent fantasies of fire or bullets or her hands soaked in Red's blood. All she could remember was the conversation with Reddington last night. She took a breath, willing her brain to slow down so she could organize her thoughts. Lizzie sat down in the chair by the window with a blanket from the bed to ward off the chill. She grabbed a pen and small notebook from her shoulder bag on the floor and began to write down what she recalled thinking about before she had fallen asleep. It was a Psychology 101 technique, and had always served her well.

Reddington's assertion than someone within the top levels of the government was seeking to join the mysterious confederation of power players that had tried to kill him had lingered in her brain. She really hated the idea that the law enforcement and justice departments could be tainted by people who only sought what was best for their own interests. If it was the cabal somehow…recruiting new members from the ranks of those offices, Lizzie realized that she could be duped or coerced into somehow helping them, likely without realizing it. And so could anyone she worked with. The thought hit like a freight train. If this was their plan, and they succeeded, they could use the FBI and judicial system to shape events as they wished.

She sifted through her mental files on her co-workers, eliminating those she knew were guiltless, like Aram and Ressler, and giving further thought to people like Samar. She was Mossad, but other than that what did they really know about her? Red seemed to trust her, but she didn't know where that trust came from. Was it because Samar was truly one of the good guys, or was it an "honor among thieves" thing? In the end, Lizzie dismissed her; Samar was not the reason for her early morning anxiety. She closed her eyes and just let herself drift back to when Red first joined them, and the names that he had given them. Ranko Zamani, The Freelancer, Floriana Campo, The Stewmaker, Anslo Garrick (that name still made her shudder) and the Judge … Lizzie paused. Something about the Judge set off a firestorm in her head and she began writing as quickly as she could, trying to find the element she was seeking.

"Be careful who you go talking to, Agent Keen," The Assistant Attorney General sneered at her from her memory. She had been talking to Cooper about the Rifkin case and he had been there. He had been kidnapped along with Cooper later that day. She couldn't put her finger on it precisely, but she knew, had probably known it then, that something about him wasn't right. Her frenzied writing eventually slowed and then stopped, leaving her with several pages of notes. She sat back in the chair and considered her options.

She knew she had to take this information to Red, get him to look into Tommy Connelly. She wanted badly to just go into the Post Office and demand some answers from Harold Cooper. However, she checked that reckless urge, knowing that it had never once gotten her the results she wanted. If the problem was going to be found and solved, she needed Red and vice versa. Now all she had to do was make sure he didn't try to outflank her.

She got dressed in the jeans and sweater she found Dembe had packed in her bag and grabbed the notebook before she headed downstairs. She was sure Red would be awake, since as far as she could tell, he never slept much. Time to get to work.

Red was at the table when she entered the kitchen, having followed the scent of coffee. He looked up from his work as she poured a mug for herself. She dropped her notebook on the table and he eyed it curiously.

"Good morning, Lizzie. I trust you slept well."

"Not bad, all things considered. What are you working on right now? " She kept her question casual, just to see if he would volunteer anything.

"There are bagels and English muffins in the bread box. Also, there are some eggs in the refrigerator, if you would like some breakfast." So, he was going to just ignore her last question. That was par for the course with Raymond Reddington. He was still trying to keep her safe, by keeping her out of the loop. The idea was noble, but flawed. She clenched her jaw against the annoyance she felt. She would get nowhere with him if she went in like a gunslinger; it was time for a different tactic. Lizzie popped a bagel in the toaster as she studied him in the morning light.

He hadn't slept. Or, at least, if he had, he hadn't slept well. There were dark circles around his eyes and there was a tightness around his usually generous mouth. He was not the only one who could read a face; she had learned from the very best.

Lizzie slathered her bagel with cream cheese and, from the corner of her eye, watched Red watching her. She knew he was looking for the usual tells, her mood, her level of … malleability this morning. She turned abruptly and met his gaze full on, watched in satisfaction as his eyes widened in slight surprise. Normally, she would try to avoid extended eye contact, but not today. Today they were going to take a step in a very different direction.

She pulled up a chair across from him, pulling her notebook over. His chameleon eyes darted to the closed cover as she slowly ate her bagel. She licked the cream cheese off her fingers and enjoyed the unexpected benefit of watching Raymond Reddington bite his lower lip as she sucked her fingers clean. Lizzie sat back in her chair and opened her notebook. Now that I have his attention, she thought as she smiled at him.

"The Judge."

Red's eyes flicked to the writing on the page and then back up to meet her eyes. "What about her?"

"You saved Cooper that day."

"No, the truth saved Cooper, Lizzie. I was merely the messenger."

"Of course, but you saved more than Cooper that day. The other person taken was an US Attorney. Do you remember him?"

Red tilted his head to one side, searching his memory. "No, I don't."

"When we were working on Rifkin's case file, before his sentence was carried out. I went to Cooper to convince him we needed to delay execution or stop it. He wasn't in favor of that. But there was another man in the office with us. Tommy Connelly. He laughed at me when I suggested calling the federal clemency officer. Told me I should be careful of who I talked to about the case."

Red leaned back, crossed his legs and regarded her with raised eyebrows. "He sounds unpleasant. But what does he have to do with this?"

"He gave me the creeps. He knew about me. I guess Cooper mentioned me. Made some remark about me being a dog with a bone and later on, when I had come back to the Post Office after one of our cases, he was there. He tried to be friendlier, more jovial, but everything he said sounded…sinister."

He was studying her more directly now. It was like watching her put together a puzzle he could not see. He had thought to keep her off the playing field. Which of course, he should have known would not be possible. He made a note of the name, adding it to the list of other names he was slowly compiling. In this way, the spider would build the web.

Lizzie rose from the table and poured herself another cup of coffee. Her brain was still buzzing, alive, like a hive full of bees, but she and Red needed to have a different conversation now. In a way, she was going the same route he had taken when he had surrendered to the FBI. Being useful, establishing her value, letting him warm to the idea of letting her help him. She sat back down and stared at him until he, finally, reluctantly, met her eyes.

"I know you'll try to keep me out of this. It's what you do."

"I will always try to protect you, Elizabeth. You know that." His mouth had flattened as it did when he didn't care for something. He knew she had outmaneuvered him and he didn't like it all.

"I do know that. And I appreciate it. But you have to let me help you now. We need to be partners on this case. It's too big for you just by yourself. And I think you know that. "

Raymond Reddington sighed and pushed back from the table, crossing his arms across his chest. No suit jacket this morning, just rolled up shirtsleeves and open collar. She could get used to that look on him; she liked the pale blue color of his shirt, and the way the muscles flexed in his forearms. She watched him from beneath her lashes as he tried to find a way to close her out, but couldn't. She wasn't going to let him.

Red sipped his cold coffee without tasting it, torn between irritation and admiration. He always thought of himself as the strategic thinker, but the end run she had done around him had been perfectly executed. He laughed to himself; he had let himself get distracted by her blue eyes and never saw it coming. His Lizzie was a study in stubbornness. From her unwavering gaze and the mutinous expression on her lovely face, it was quite clear he didn't have a leg to stand on in this argument. So the choice was made for him. He stood, and collected his coffee mug from the table. He paused behind her chair and considered kissing the top of her head. Instead he settled for a single stroke of her hair to her shoulder before saying, "As you wish."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** As always, many thanks to my beta **thefirstfewchapters** for her excellent guidance. I wish I owned the Blacklist, but I can't have nice things.

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Red and Dembe went out just before noon on some mysterious errand that they wouldn't explain, and left to her own devices, Lizzie decided to explore the house they were in. It was the first time she had ever found herself in one of Red's safe houses alone. The bedrooms were all upstairs, she had counted them this morning while fighting off the urge to peak into Reddington's room. Downstairs held the communal spaces and a small powder room off the kitchen. She found a small room off the living room that had clearly once been an office. The desk, chair and bookshelves were all still there, though there were no books at all. There was a white board mounted on one of the walls and some rummaging in the kitchen turned up a few dry erase markers.

Lizzie smiled as she grabbed her notebook off the table. Halfway back to the office, she stopped and turned to the kitchen. Red's files were still sitting there along with his notes, just where he had left them. She moved back to the table and began to gather them together. If they were going to work together, he was going to have to learn to trust her abilities, whether he wanted to or not. But, in order to continue to prove her value, she needed to come up with a working theory.

The desk in the office was large enough to allow her to spread out the files and keep everything in neat order. Lizzie sat in the chair, glancing through Red's list of names, trying to find the corresponding file for each one. Most of the names were unknown to her, probably associates of Red's. She found his files on the task force enlightening. Ressler really had attempted to kill him in Brussels. That would explain some things, she mused. Samar's file was predictably skimpy, which was understandable she was a foreign operative. An hour later, her eyes were tired from reading, but she had a better grasp of the situation. Humming to herself, she began to put names on the board.

It was late afternoon, the sunlight slanted in the western windows, when she heard noises coming from the kitchen. She was pretty sure it was Red, but she grabbed her pistol off the desk anyway. She eased open the door, careful to stay in the shadows and slipped out into the living room, staying low behind furniture until she could see who was in the kitchen. She sighed as she saw Dembe carrying in sacks of what looked like takeout food. Lizzie felt her stomach rumble; she suddenly realized it had been a long time since the bagel she had eaten for breakfast. She sauntered into the kitchen just as Red came in from the garage, stopping in the mudroom to hang up his coat. He glanced at the gun in her hand with arched eyebrows, but wisely said nothing.

Lizzie tucked her weapon at the small of her back and began to poke through the bags, looking for something to fill her empty stomach. Red and Dembe began to clear off the kitchen table to make room for all the food. It seemed like enough for a small army to Lizzie, but she considered that Dembe probably ate quite a bit to maintain his muscle mass, and Red just really enjoyed food. She studied him as he moved the computers off to a sideboard across the room. He seemed leaner than he had been when she met him for the first time. As he hefted the weight of one of the file boxes, she could see the muscles of his shoulders and arms flex under his vest and thin dress shirt. Her face grew warm and she knew she was blushing and she turned away quickly before he caught her, yet again.

What on earth was she doing, mooning over him like a high school crush when they were all in very real danger? Lizzie gave herself a mental shake and tried to banish all thoughts of anything not case related. Obviously, her blood sugar was low, because she was borderline hallucinating. She found a container of shrimp lo mein and a fork and began to eat standing at the counter. She kept her back to Reddington, though, just in case she was still flushed.

Red smiled to himself as he moved takeout containers to the table. When she entered the kitchen, she stood facing them, watching. When he moved the boxes, she had abruptly stiffened and turned away. As he moved around the table he saw her open the cardboard container with hands that definitely trembled a bit.

"Not standing on ceremony, Lizzie?" Red gave her a side glance as Dembe moved through the kitchen, collecting glasses, plates and silverware. Lizzie turned around, looked guilty for a moment, then mutinous. At least, as much as one could with a mouthful of Chinese food. Her face was still a little pink. He couldn't decide if she felt guilty over checking him out or about the files she had appropriated. Oh Lizzie, Red thought, what have you been up to, sweetheart? He had noticed the files were missing, along with his notes as soon as he entered the kitchen. He waited for her to finish chewing, then passed her a glass of water.

"I was hungry, I skipped lunch, "she said, after a sip of water.

"So, what did you do with my files, Lizzie?" His voice was mild, even a little curious. He wasn't really angry about her having moved them, but he did want her to keep him apprised of what she was doing. He knew what happened when Lizzie went off book and he didn't want to end up in the belly of another tugboat, cleaning up another mess. He pulled out a chair at the table for her and waited until she sat before he and Dembe joined her. He scooped rice and beef bulgogi onto his plate, Dembe passed him a cold beer. He offered one to Lizzie, who shook her head. Red began to eat his meal while he waited for Lizzie to answer his question.

"I borrowed your files. If I'm going to work with you, I need to know what you know. We have to be together on this. After we're done eating, I'll show you what I have so far." She cringed internally at the belligerence in her voice, but she couldn't help it. He just looked at her with those cool, green eyes and she felt like she'd been called into the principal's office at school. She hated it and it made her defensive. She didn't like the defensiveness much either.

"Excellent. Let's go and take a look." Red stood and picked up his beer.

"Don't you want to finish dinner?"

"Lizzie, everyone knows Chinese food is always better reheated."

Lizzie led Red into the office, and he stood contemplating the web of names on the whiteboard. He recalled having stood like this with her before. In a tiny storage locker, while they tried to sort out connections surrounding Tom and Berlin. Here, she had placed the Rifkin case near the middle of the board, along with Cooper and Connelly. Tom Keen was there, unconnected at the moment. It was a good beginning to the puzzle, even with most of the pieces still missing. He stood silently and looked at the work Lizzie had done so far. He knew she was more than competent, he knew her skill set, understood her methods, yet he still continued to be impressed. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, watching him as though she were trying to decipher his thoughts. He turned and smiled at her, and she came to stand beside him.

Lizzie stared at the board, frustrated. She knew it didn't seem like a lot to work with, but she could sense a pattern emerging. She just couldn't see it yet. It was like a shadow moving, just out of her field of vision. She needed more information. She picked up her marker and tapped Connelly's name.

"He ordered Cooper to beat a confession out of Rifkin. He was willing to go that far. What else has he been willing to do? We need his case records. You said Tom was supposed to be given back to the task force, but he wasn't. He was released. Who signed the release?" Lizzie tapped the closed marker against her lips as she stared at the puzzle in front of her.

"Well, that I can help with." Red took the other marker off the desk and drew a line between Tom Keen and Cooper. Lizzie's eyes flew to Red's face in surprise.

"Cooper released Tom? Why? Why would he do that?" Lizzie felt sick at the thought that Cooper could be involved in this. She trusted him.

"That's a good question and one that definitely needs an answer. It's only the first of many. We can get Connelly's case records. I have a source for that. I think we may need to have a chat with Cooper."

"I need to go back to work, Red. I can talk to Cooper. I can access FBI files. We need their resources."

The more Lizzie looked at the line between Connelly and Cooper, the more uneasy tendrils of doubt crept into her mind. There was something she was still missing, and if she was going to find it, it would have to be an inside job.

Red watched Lizzie ponder the web of deceit in front of her and let her comment about going back in to the Post Office hang unanswered. He was afraid that far more than just her trust in Cooper was going to be crushed as a result of this operation. He didn't particularly want her to go back to the Post Office, but he knew that the answers they needed would be there. Whatever his reputation; Red didn't like to risk people. He hadn't liked sending Meera Malik to find the mole after Anslo's fun and games. She was CIA and good at her job, but he hadn't liked it. The risk to Lizzie was a much bigger pill to swallow. He decided to sleep on the matter; and talk to her in the morning.

The shadows grew long as the sun set into the trees. Night was falling.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Beta'd by the lovely and talented **thefirstfewchapters**, so any screw-ups are mine. Thoroughly disclaimed, as ever. Hope you enjoy!

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"Red, we talked about this last night. We need the task force, which means I need to go back to work. Unless you'd prefer to kidnap Cooper to get the answers to our questions?" Lizzie glared across the kitchen table while Reddington sipped his coffee, implacably. Dembe was out on an errand already so it was just the two of them and a pot of coffee. Lizzie felt good about the work they had done last night. Perhaps they didn't have all the answers but, at the very least, they knew some of the questions now. She'd gone to bed content that Red would have some faith in her abilities and let her go back to the Post Office to get more of the information that would get them out of danger. Morning light, however, found an intractable Raymond Reddington drinking coffee and refusing to listen to a word she said. Truly, the man could not be more infuriating. Her hypothetical question hung in the air like a piñata; Lizzie grabbed her own coffee and flounced out of the kitchen. She would work some more on the files they already had and take another run at Red after lunch.

He watched her go with tired eyes. All of the coffee in the world didn't make up for the lack of sleep since the beginning of this situation. The frustration he felt was like an elephant sitting on his chest. He knew Lizzie was frustrated as well, which he understood. It couldn't be easy for a woman of her abilities to be forced to a halt. But, Red was in the peculiar position of not knowing everything; which meant he couldn't keep Lizzie safe. The danger to them was real; the trouble was identifying the source. The Post Office might be clean, but there was a leak there that Red believed to be a harbinger of worse to come. After having spoken to Cooper about the man, he had thought that the Trader was comfortably in the hands of the Justice Department, he had heard whispers of an indictment from his various contacts. Then, just as the arrest was nigh, the man had vanished. So now Red had added him to the Blacklist; it was the only way he could think of to get the task force to open an investigation, which would allow him to do some of his own investigating.

Dembe was meeting a source Red had at the Attorney General's office and would be back soon with the case files of Tommy Connolly. For the moment, he would need to concentrate on the Trader, he was the link that would lead Red to the rest of the chain. He had a nasty feeling that this was all tied together with the Cabal somehow. He glanced at the office door, wishing he was in the cozy office with her, but he dismissed that thought for now. He would let Lizzie work off her anger and maybe they could try to have a reasonable discussion over lunch.

Lizzie pulled the desk chair in front of the white board and swiveled back and forth as she contemplated the names and events it contained. This morning's brief argument with Red kept distracting her from the problem, though. The way Lizzie saw it, they both had parts of the picture, but the picture could only become a coherent whole if they put their respective parts together. She understood his need to keep her out of harm's way; he had done it when they went after Berlin during the plane crash debacle. He had the location that Alan Fitch gave him, and yet he deliberately misled her out of some misguided hope of keeping her out of it. She rolled her eyes skyward at the thought of how well that had worked. Instead of going with Red, she got kidnapped by her ex-husband and used as a hostage. She really didn't want to go through anything similar this time. This time they would have to be a team. There was no other way.

The Alliance was a web of shadows and at the center of it was the Fulcrum, which was in her possession. She wasn't sure who all the members of the group were, but judging by the ferocity of their various attacks on Reddington, she would guess they were at the top of the list of the rich and powerful. If Cooper had released Tom, did he do so because he was ordered to? Did the Alliance have a leash on Cooper? Red had said something about a Blacklister who had pulled a vanishing act, right before he was to be indicted for embezzlement and money laundering. Something about that tickled Lizzie's brain. If it was a federal case, that indictment would have come from the Attorney General's office. She jumped up from the chair and began to sort through the files on the desk again. There was something she was missing, and she was determined to find it.

Dembe called on his way back from the meeting with their informant. He had the information they needed and would be arriving in ten minutes. Red sighed with relief, he really needed that information. The Trader had been a virtuoso of accounting; he laundered criminal money through various research projects at the medical research corporation he worked for, some of that money was then shipped south to drug cartels or overseas. It was a particular group of Chechen rebels that had Red concerned at the moment. They had been merely a simple group of dissidents, armed with pistols and shotguns, with no discernible leadership. That had changed recently. Now they were running major ordinance from Russia to Syria and Yemen. Red massaged his left temple absently as he scrolled through the information he had collected when they had been in Uzbekistan.

Dembe entered the house carrying an envelope and a small box piled with takeout cartons. With a brief nod, he handed Red a memory stick which he plugged in to the computer. Dembe placed the box on the counter and began to unload it. Red rose from his chair and stretched wearily; his back was stiff from sitting all morning.

"What's all this, Dembe?" he asked as he opened the fridge for a bottle of water.

"Agent Keen asked for Thai." Red shot a look at the office door. Still closed. It was time to remedy that situation.

Lizzie sighed and tried to read through the pages she had pulled out on the arms dealer Volkov, whom she had once used to get to Berlin. Tom had been her source then, he had given her Volkov. As far as she knew, he was still in business. Red would know. Her eyes were tired and her brain was almost wiped. She glanced at the clock on her cell phone. Nearly one-thirty, Dembe should be back soon with lunch. She had sneakily called the quiet bodyguard and asked him to pick up some Thai for them.

She rose from her chair and went to the window, opening it just a bit so she could see outside. She liked the band of trees that separated the house from the houses on either side of it. It made it feel private and secluded. Lizzie sipped her bottle of water and turned her thoughts to the criminal in the kitchen and how she could convince him to let her go back to work. He had to know that it was the only way to help him get what was needed to solve this problem. Red was just so set on protecting her. He seemed to understand that she could, and did, look after herself. She was a trained agent, after all. But somehow sending her into this latest fray he had created was quite a different matter. She wished she didn't find it endearing; it made it hard to stay mad at him. But she had to face facts, the closer she got to the man, the less she could see of the criminal. She wondered how long it would be before that persona disappeared entirely for her.

Red tapped on the office door more for form and manners than anything else. He heard her muttered "Come in," and pushed the door open. Lizzie stood by the window, framed by the brightness coming in. Her darkened form resembled the shadow of an eclipse to Red, and he was dazzled by the halo of light that surrounded her.

"Dembe has arrived with your lunch order, I believe."

"Thanks. I'll be out in a second." He watched her as she moved to the desk and began to put the files back together in a neat stack. Red stood in the center of the room, reading over her notes on the white board. The name Volkov had caught his eye, and now the tumblers on the locks in his brain were moving slowly. There was something about the name: Volkov. His forehead creased in concentration as he tried to recall where he had heard that name and in what context he had heard it. He flipped through his mental files, searching.

"What's up, Red?" She came to stand beside him and put a hand on his arm. He glanced down at her hand, trying to recall the last time she had touched him without a reason. He couldn't remember, and as he stared down at her inquisitive face, it finally snapped into place in his head. Berlin. Tom Keen. Volkov. The Chechen group. The Trader. He strode out of the room and grabbed his notes from the table and was back in less than a minute. Red grabbed a marker and started adding the Chechens to Volkov's chain, and then the Trader's name tying into the Post Office and Harold Cooper.

"Who's the Trader?"

"The Blacklister who was almost indicted, but apparently decided to bounce out of the country instead."

"Okay, so how do we find him? Why do we need to find him?"

" Because I think he has the key to the whole castle. You were right, Lizzie, we are going to need the task force for this one."

Ah yes, things were beginning to click together now, Red could feel the pattern taking on shape and form. He still couldn't quite see the center of the web, but the outlying design was very familiar. He smiled down at the woman beside him, rather proud of her for thinking of the arms dealer after all this time. He casually draped an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the office.

Dembe sat at the table, quietly enjoying his pad thai, and he smiled at Lizzie when she entered the kitchen under Red's arm. Lizzie realized with a start how intimate that must seem and quickly ducked out to rummage in the refrigerator for drinks. She got her soup and spring rolls off the counter and sat at the table. Red joined her with his lunch nicely plated and a bottle of beer. She passed him a napkin out of habit, paused as his hand met hers halfway. Her eyes flew to his face, but his expression was neutral. As if he knew that any smug or knowing looks would earn him her renewed ire. It seemed he was learning. She hid a smile in her napkin.

"So, you think The Trader is the key to this thing, Red?"

"Yes, I believe so. But more so, I believe that Harold Cooper will have information we can use."

"So you're going to let me go back to work?"

"Yes, and I'm coming back with you."

Lizzie started to argue but stopped before she could say the next word. Didn't she have a whole conversation with herself about being a team already today? So it would make sense for him to come with her to the blacksite. And if she was being honest, she knew they would stand a better chance of getting what they needed if he went in with her. She knew her job, she was good at it, but for better or worse, her inquiries fared better with the shadow of the man in the fedora behind her.

Red and Lizzie stood together in the office, shoulder to shoulder almost. The white board was now covered in so much writing it more closely resembled the graffiti-ed walls of the DC Metro. Most, if not all, of the pieces were there, now; they only needed to jiggle them around to get them into the correct places. The blue grey stillness of twilight time had descended outside, and it was almost … cozy. Which was Fate's cue, apparently.

Dembe knocked loudly at the door.

"Raymond, we have to go! Now!"

Tension that had been absent for a few hours, instantly tightened the thumbscrews again. Lizzie snapped a few pictures of the board with her phone and then began to erase it frantically. Dembe entered with a file box and swept the files off the desk into it with a single movement.

"Elizabeth, you need to go. Grab your bag and your gun. Do not worry about anything else. We can purchase clothes and other necessities. They are coming." Dembe was never long on words, so the fact that he took the time to say all of these galvanized Lizzie into definitive action.

She sprinted up the stairs to grab her purse and her shoulder harness, she left her clothes and toiletries where they were and only paused to shove her feet into a pair of sneakers. She was almost to the staircase when she heard the distinctive sound of a door lock being shot out. From her position, she could see the front door, where two armed men had suddenly appeared. As they pushed in the ruined door and entered, Lizzie drew her weapon and fired, taking out both men. She bolted down the stairs just as Reddington stepped into the living room with his Colt in his hand.

"Lizzie! Are you injured?"

"No. I dropped them before they even fired a shot." Red took her arm and pulled her through the great room and into the garage. As they passed through, Lizzie could see the kitchen was clean; all the boxes had been removed. Red worked fast. Dembe was in the car with the engine running. Lizzie and Red almost fell into the backseat as he put the car into gear. As they sped away from the house, black sedans began to stream into the neighborhood, and less than two seconds later, an explosion rattled the windows of the Mercedes. Lizzie felt the percussive force of the blast in her chest. The resulting blaze would surely consume any evidence of their presence. She looked over at the man seated next to her. She would never know all his secrets and he would never stop trying to keep her safe. Maybe it was about time she accepted that fact.

Red had regained his composure. That had been a lot closer of a call than he liked. He returned his weapon to his holster and looked out the window at the firelight through the trees.

"Well, there go the property values."

Silhouetted against a darkening sky, Lizzie began to laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Beta'd by the incomparable **thefirstfewchapters**. I'm so thrilled by the all the lovely feedback this story has received. Thank you all so much. As always, I own nothing, not even a goldfish.

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Night fell swiftly as they drove through the streets of suburban DC until they finally they stopped at a large chain hotel that specialized in corporate travel suites. Lizzie regarded the 3-star accommodation with raised eyebrows as Dembe went to check in for them. Red chuckled in the darkness of the Mercedes.

"They certainly wouldn't look for me here, now would they?"

"I wonder how they found us in the first place. It seems odd, doesn't it? We were there for almost two days and then they descend like something out of Apocalypse Now?"

"I have some suspicions. But I'll need to confirm them before I take decisive action."

Dembe got back in the car and drove around to the rear of the building. They took the stairs up to the top floor and headed towards the room nearest the fire escape. Dembe went in first, gun drawn, checking the living room, then the bedroom and bathroom, even behind the curtains, before he motioned Red and Lizzie inside. The heavy door shut behind her and she immediately locked and chained it. Red and Dembe both had "go bags" that they kept packed in the trunk of the car, but Lizzie only had her tote with her. She would have to slip downstairs later and purchase a few essentials from the gift shop. In the meantime, she slid her service weapon into her holster, laid them both on the side table and kicked off her shoes. She joined Red and Dembe on the couch, where they sat watched the news report about a mysterious "gas line explosion" in a Virginia suburb. Several bodies had been found, and next of kin would be notified once they were identified. The house was corporately owned and managed by a local rental agent, according to the perky news anchor, who seemed oddly cheerful for such a macabre story, and had been declared a complete loss.

"How did you manage the explosion, Red? Did you rig it all up when we got there?" Lizzie was still processing everything, letting the adrenaline drain out of her system. Her head buzzed like she'd had too many lattes and her hands began to tremble in her lap. She took deep breaths, trying to make her body settle down.

Red watched her from the corner of his eye. He'd seen Lizzie under fire before; she was always excellent. Cool and calm, fully capable of rational decisions, there was no doubting her abilities as a federal agent in Red's mind. Rarely though was he around for the aftermath of one of these situations, usually she just yelled at him and then ran away to lick her wounds in private. He saw the fine tremor in her hands as she clasped them on her thighs. Before he could think it through, he reached over and placed his much larger hand over both of hers. He kept the pressure very light, only enough to calm her nerves. She looked sideways at him, startled, but he kept his eyes on the television screen. Soon enough, he saw some of the tension leave her body as she relaxed into the overstuffed couch and her hands went still under his.

"To answer your question Lizzie, Dembe and I set the charges the first night we arrived. Not that we were planning to use them, of course, since no one knows I owned that house, but it was a precautionary measure we took."

"So, if no one knows you owned it, how did they find us?"

"That's a question that preys on my mind as well. You didn't call anyone other than Dembe, did you?" Red searched her face, relieved to see the jittery energy had dissipated from her blue eyes.

"No, just that one call, today while he was out."

Red looked over at his constant companion. He trusted Dembe with his life, with Lizzie's life; he knew he was careful. But even careful men could make mistakes. Dembe looked thoughtful.

"I spoke to two people while I was out. The clerk at the Thai restaurant and our contact at the Attorney General's office. I met him in the park, on a bench, as we always have before. But he seemed far more anxious than the last time we met. His hands shook when he gave me the memory stick."

The memory stick was now in Red's trouser pocket. But if Dembe thought the man seemed nervous, then maybe it was a good idea to see if he had a reason to be.

"Lizzie, can you call Aram please? We need his assistance."

Lizzie could almost see the wheels turn in Reddington's head as he and Dembe began to connect the dots. His hand was still on hers, warm and strong, and he was rubbing his thumb lightly across her skin every so often. He had held her hand before, to comfort her when Tom had been revealed as a liar and spy. Then, she'd had been understandably preoccupied with her disintegrating life. Now,she admired the elegant architecture of his wide palm, the tapered fingers. She recalled meeting with him while he was getting a manicure, which was obviously a regular habit because his cuticles were neat and the nails buffed. It bewildered her that hands so well-kept could kill so easily, so readily. But she knew he what he could do and she had seen what happened to those who crossed him. They were lovely hands, but murderous all the same. Lizzie shivered as a chill crept into her bones. She trusted him, in the end, she supposed because he had never tried to hide what he was from her. There was something comforting in that knowledge.

She slid her hands away from his and reached for her bag. She would call Aram and hopefully he would be able to help them without getting killed for his trouble.

Aram answered on the second ring. He sounded breathless, as though he had run across his house to get to the phone. Lizzie hit the button for speaker phone.

"Agent Keen! I'm glad you're okay. Samar said you were sick. Are you calling me for the homework assignment?" His quick wit made Lizzie chuckle a bit under her breath.

"No, I'm not sick, Aram. I'm with Reddington and we need your help."

He was quiet for a few moments. Aram was already a little highly-strung and mention of Red always set his nerves on a sharper edge than usual.

"Of course, what does Mr. Reddington need?"

"Information. Is there a way to embed a tracking device onto a memory stick?" Lizzie paced between the couch and the kitchenette; Red watched her like a hawk, listening to every word.

"A standard USB jump drive? No, not really. You can't really do anything to it physically, or it won't work. But you could write a tracer algorithm to attach to whatever file you have stored on there. When it's accessed, the trace program would activate. Is that a problem you're having?"

"Maybe. Probably. Is there a way to access the file without activating the trace?"

"There is, but I'd have to have access to the stick itself, to deactivate the program. Can you bring it in to the Post Office?"

Lizzie paused and looked questioningly at Reddington. He spoke up so Aram could hear him.

"We'll be in tomorrow morning, Aram. Thank you for your help."

Aram almost squeaked when he heard Red's smooth baritone over the phone. Clearly he had not expected an audience.

"Sure thing, Mr. Reddington, happy to help." He might have babbled on, but Lizzie took mercy on him and ended the call. She reclaimed her seat on the couch. Red was deep in thought, biting his lower lip with a far-off stare. Dembe had gone to take a shower, so it was just her and the FBI's fourth most wanted.

"You think it was your contact that hid the tracer?"

"No, not directly. I think he knew about it, and someone put him up to it. Doesn't matter, of course. The result is the same."

"Going to shoot the messenger?" Lizzie was at least half joking, but Red looked at her with eyes like flint.

"Of course." The chill was back under Lizzie's skin. Red seemed to realize he had disturbed her in some way. His face relaxed, settled into more jovial lines as he picked up the remote to change the channel.

"You can have the next shower, Lizzie, but save me some hot water, if you can."

"Oh, I need to run down and get some things…" She began to rise from the couch, but Red's hand on her leg stopped her cold.

"I don't mind sharing some shampoo with you, if you don't mind not smelling like a fruit basket." Her eyes narrowed with a huff as she shook off his hand.

"I do not smell like a fruit basket, Raymond Reddington." And with that parting shot, she grabbed her tote and left the living room in a snit.

Red laughed silently as he flipped channels. He recalled the stage directions from some Shakespeare play or other he had read long ago, probably in school.

"Exit, pursued by bear."

He was still laughing when Dembe rejoined him in the living room.

Lizzie thanked whatever gods were listening when she found her small toiletry kit in her tote. It wasn't much, but it did have deodorant, a hairbrush and some basic cosmetics. She didn't want to look completely haggard. She made the shower hot but short, enjoying the sage and rosemary scent of Red's shampoo and soap. It was a nice, clean fragrance that reminded Lizzie of walking in the woods back in Nebraska. Afterwards she was at the sink brushing her teeth when she saw it … Red's shaving kit, sat on the vanity; Dembe had probably unpacked it. His cologne and aftershave were in unlabeled cobalt bottles. She finished her ablutions and quietly uncapped the cologne for a quick sniff. She paused and took a deeper, longer inhalation. Sandalwood, cedar and wood smoke danced a milonga with her olfactory senses and she took another breath, so deep she almost made herself dizzy. She studied the bottle again, but couldn't find any marks. Which meant it was likely a custom blend, just for him. It was hard to reconcile the gentleman who wore such a luxury with the criminal who would soon contract the murder of an asset that betrayed him. The man was a maze of contradictions.

In the bedroom there was only one king-size bed. Someone, probably Dembe, had left a man's t-shirt for her to sleep in and she smiled with relief. There was nothing more uncomfortable than sleeping in your clothes. She donned the shirt, which came down to mid-thigh, and used the sink to rinse out her under things. She figured Red had probably seen women's underwear before, so he could survive the shock. She looked at the bed with a frown. How were they going to manage this? She rolled her eyes at herself in exasperation. Weren't they adults? This wasn't high school. Surely two people could share a bed for one night without anyone's virtue being in question. Still, as she grabbed the long bolster pillow and laid it in the center of the mattress, he was Raymond Reddington; perhaps it was better safe than sorry.

When Red slipped in to the bedroom after midnight, Lizzie had already fallen asleep. He saw the pillow used as a divider and smiled. He wasn't sure if it was him she didn't trust, or herself. Red would take bets on the latter, but not on whether the lady in question would admit to such a failing. He took a lukewarm shower, hoping the hot water would hold out longer that way. As he washed he wished for his Paris apartment. Bright and airy, with large windows and crown moldings, he'd had it remodeled when he first bought it. It had one less bedroom now, but the master bath was enormous, with a shower almost the size of the kitchen. It overlooked one of Paris' more romantic cemeteries, with a balcony just large enough for a chair and a tiny table. He would like to see Lizzie on the balcony, looking out over that legendary city. He cursed himself for a dreamer and a fool and tried to scrub out his feelings for her with soap.

He toweled himself dry and carefully rehung Lizzie's undergarments on the towel bar. He tried not to contemplate whether she had a spare set in the tote, because that thought was going nowhere good, as he pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt. The bathroom light cast a pale glow over the sleeping woman and in the quiet he could hear her breathe. Red slid under the blankets, carefully turned on his side and set the alarm on his watch. He rarely slept more than four hours a night. And they needed to leave early in the morning. He lay in the dark wide awake, going over key points in his head. He had already contracted someone to take care of the traitor who had set the dogs on them. That would be handled quickly and with great discretion. He didn't enjoy it, taking lives, but he would do it.

If it kept him safe, and certainly if it kept Lizzie safe, there was almost nothing he wouldn't do. He closed his eyes and slept.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Back into the fray we go! Beta'd splendidly by **thefirstfewchapters**, and of course, I own nothing, I just like to play with them. For science. ;-)

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It was still dark outside when Lizzie woke to find Red standing over her with a travel mug of coffee in his hand. She wasn't even going to ask where he had gotten it; two years had taught her that she likely didn't want to know the answer. At this moment, she was simply grateful there was coffee. Blindly, eagerly, she began to reach for it before her feet were firmly on the floor. Red looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"Oh, did you want some coffee, Lizzie?"

"Give me that coffee or die, Reddington." Her voice wasn't even awake yet, much less the rest of her. She decided that there should be a punishment for looking as bright and fresh as he did this early in the morning; while she, on the other hand, very likely resembled the walking dead. Evidently, she looked pathetic enough that he decided to take pity on her, as he wrapped her hands around the steel tumbler. She took the first sip of her personal morning poison with a sigh and a smile. Three sips later, she was cognizant enough to be aware of Red observing her with a fond smile. Something about that smile warmed her inside where she was usually so cold. Of course, then his gaze swept over her mostly bare legs and lingered just a touch too long. She could feel her face grow warm in the half light of dawn, waiting for some comment about her ragged appearance, but his expression remained neutral.

"We need to leave within the next ten minutes, Lizzie. Aram is going to meet us at the coffee shop down the street from the Post Office."

She nodded and waited for him to leave the bedroom. He didn't seem inclined to do so, so Lizzie grabbed her clothes from the chair where she'd left them last night and took them and her coffee into the bathroom. She heard his deep chuckle just before she shut the door and Lizzie rolled her eyes at the sound.

Red left the bedroom as Lizzie closed the door. He needed to make another cup of coffee and settle himself before the journey to the Post Office. He had been just fine, until Lizzie's legs had distracted him with their length and their silky skin. Next time they went on the run, he would have to remember to bring spare pajamas for her. It could not be healthy for that much of his blood to rush away from his brain that quickly. He stirred two sugars into the black coffee that he had poured into a second travel mug and took a long sip, hoping the caffeine would make up for the lost sleep because lying that close to the woman he adored did not make for a restful night.

The door of the bedroom opened and Lizzie emerged looking somewhat travel worn but, to him at least, still lovely. Her shoulder holster was strapped on over her t-shirt, her service weapon tucked in securely. He decided it would be better if her gun were tucked away, so he shrugged off his blue anorak and then his suit jacket, revealing his own shoulder rig, both pistols at the ready. He handed Lizzie his suit jacket, giving her an impatient look when she stared at it like it was going to bite her.

"Just for the morning, so you don't frighten the commuters at the coffeehouse." He used his best, most rational tone. It usually worked on her. He smiled when she took the jacket and shrugged it on, turning back the cuffs once so she could still hold her coffee. He rather liked her in his jacket, even though it swallowed her smaller frame. He admired her from the corner of his eye as she shrugged her shoulders a few times to settle the fabric properly, took a sip of her coffee and then grabbed her tote from the couch.

"You ready to go, Red?"

Lizzie reminded herself to keep her head on a swivel as they approached the coffee shop, not that she didn't trust Aram, but if he had let anything slip to anyone else, the situation could deteriorate. But there was no cause to worry; Aram sat alone at a table in the back, and Lizzie couldn't help but smile. Her feelings for him had never been romantic, but she appreciated him as one of the last truly good people she knew. A man who would feel bad for killing a terrorist because he was a human being. She knew Red trusted Aram implicitly, which was saying a good deal. His sunny smile didn't quite hide the worry in his eyes.

"Morning. You guys want some coffee? They make a nice latte."

"Hello, Aram. Thank you for meeting us so early. I assume you brought along your equipment?" Red pulled out a chair for Lizzie to sit down across from her friend while he remained standing. He pulled the USB drive from his trouser pocket and passed it to Aram, who was busy pulling out his laptop.

"I think I will get some coffee." He walked easily to the counter, but Lizzie could see he was well on his guard. Even with Dembe close by at a table near the door.

Lizzie watched as Aram booted up the computer but before he could insert the drive, she grabbed his hand. He was her friend, and she needed him to be aware of what he was walking into.

"The last time we activated this drive, it triggered an armed response. Can you disable it before they figure out where we are?"

Aram eyed the USB drive nervously, as though it might bite him. "I… think so. I'm pretty sure."

"Are you armed?"

Aram wordlessly opened his jacket to reveal the pistol underneath.

"I'm always armed these days, Liz." Lizzie felt a slight pang, that his peaceful life had also been shattered by Reddington's surrender.

"Hurricane Red cuts a wide swath, doesn't he?" Her smile was rueful and sympathetic. Aram returned the smile.

"What doesn't kill us, though, right?" He plugged in the drive and began to work swiftly.

Red set down three cups of coffee on the table while Aram worked his magic. Lizzie glanced up at him with a quick smile of thanks and wondered why she was surprised that he knew how she took her coffee. She shouldn't be; he seemed to know everything else about her. He sat quietly, legs crossed casually, watching the sidewalk outside as Aram continued to work feverishly.

Finally Aram lifted his hands off the keyboard with wide eyes.

"Okay, so I … um…deactivated the trace, I don't think they had a chance to get a location. At least, I really hope not. "He stopped and glanced uncertainly at Reddington. When nothing was said, he cleared his throat and continued. "But the file opened. Do you want me to…uh… send it anywhere?" He turned the computer so that Red could see the screen. His neutral expression became grim in the harsh light of the café.

"No Aram, if the drive is safe to use, we'll take it with us. When does Director Cooper come to work in the morning?"

"Usually he's there by eight."

"Excellent. Come with us, Aram. I want to make sure you get to work safely."

The four of them slowly walked down the sidewalk toward the Post Office, Dembe in the lead, with Reddington behind Lizzie and Aram. Lizzie kept herself between the street and Aram; she wouldn't tolerate anyone hurting her friend. Aram leaned over to whisper to her, obviously not wanting Red to hear.

"So are you guys…you know, a couple now?"

"What? No, we're a team, Aram. We're not together like that. Not at all." Lizzie felt the flush coloring her cheeks. She could only guess how it looked to someone from the outside. She came in with him in the early morning, she was wearing his jacket, he knew how she drank her coffee… yes, she could see how it might look.

"Well, for what it's worth, I know you two care about each other and I think you look amazing together."

Lizzie, for once, had no response.

Red smiled as he watched the two agents share secrets like school children. He couldn't hear them exactly, but he could guess the content by reading Lizzie's face. When she blushed and bit her lower lip, he smiled to himself. Aram might not be the best shot but he was perceptive.

They made it to the Post Office with no interference; but Red didn't allow himself to relax until the freight elevator was closed with them in it. There were already people buzzing around the main floor, despite the early hour. Aram stopped to talk to some co-workers, Red and Lizzie continued upstairs to Cooper's office. He left the lights off as they waited for the Assistant Director to arrive. Finally, at about fifteen minutes to eight, Harold Cooper opened his door and flicked on the lights, starting only slightly when he saw Red and Lizzie waiting for him.

"Hello, Harold. We need to talk."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Kind of a short update this time, as I am trying to get back into the swing of this story, but I hope you enjoy it. Big love to my beta **thefirstfewchapters**, who always gives me a nudge where I need it. Thoroughly disclaimed.

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Harold Cooper rubbed his face with the hands of a man who desperately needed another cup of coffee. It was a hell of a way to wake up in the morning, flipping on the lights of his office to the greeting of a criminal mastermind, and the agent who stood beside him like a junkyard dog. He didn't quite understand the nature of the attachment between Elizabeth Keen and Raymond Reddington, but he had his suspicions. At first, he thought perhaps he was some sort of relation or family friend, but just a few weeks of observation quickly cleared away that theory. On the very rare occasion when Harold saw him unguarded, Red looked at Agent Keen like a man drowning in his own emotions, and not trying to save himself at all.

"Reddington, you know what you're saying sounds like a conspiracy theory? I would have to be crazier than everyone thinks I am to believe this story."

Red held out the USB drive with a single arched brow. Harold took it gingerly, as though he expected it to blow up in his face, which had in fact been known to happen. Everything Red had brought to the task force had been valuable and most of it had been dangerous. This was par for the course. He glanced at Agent Keen before he slipped the drive into the computer on his desk and she met his gaze steadily, giving a slight nod. Whatever this was, she believed it was the real thing. Harold did not like or trust Raymond Reddington, but he did trust Elizabeth Keen. That would just have to do for now.

"What is this supposed to mean to me, Reddington? These look like case files, legal case files. Do I even want to know where you acquired this information?"

Red smirked at Cooper across the space between them. He liked Harold Cooper. The man was fundamentally honest, only wandering into grey areas when absolutely necessary in service of the country he loved. Red could respect that; admire it even, much in the same way he admired Ressler, cloaked in little jabs and witty ripostes.

"Look at some of the names on those files, Harold. What you have there are the case records and files of one Tommy Connelly, US Attorney, soon to be US Attorney General. Do any of those names seem familiar to you?"

Lizzie left Red's side to join Cooper at the computer as he scrolled through the file listings. She pulled her file folder from her tote and placed it on his desk. She mustered a smile for a man that she respected and appreciated for his kindness and his guidance. He hadn't asked for any of this in his life. But here they were all the same.

Cooper was soon immersed in a labyrinth of corruption that snaked through the government like the serpent of Eden. Tommy Connelly was an old acquaintance, dating back many years, and if what he was seeing was true, the man had been selling out his country for at least twenty years. Blacklist names from the file Agent Keen had given him appeared throughout Connelly's case files and in each one, the Attorney General's office had chosen not to prosecute. Which meant that the man he called friend was responsible for letting murderers, arms dealers, and terrorists walk free. A sick feeling washed over Cooper and he pushed back from the desk and went to stand near the window that overlooked the main floor.

He wasn't sure what to think. The evidence was in front of his face and he desperately wished for another explanation. But he knew there wasn't one. Now he would have to make another deal with the devil, and he'd hoped to avoid that.

"So say I believe my eyes, which seems only logical given the evidence you've brought. This still doesn't show any evidence or facts to support your theory of some mysterious Alliance or Cabal, as you call it. What's their game?" Harold stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his posture as defensive as his words. Red didn't take offense at that. He knew what it felt like to have all your core beliefs betrayed and then destroyed. He himself had gone down that rabbit hole twenty years ago.

"Their game is power. Money. They represent governments, corporations, who seek to bend the world to their own benefit. And they've been quite successful for a number of years. They have no natural enemies, except exposure. And, until now, no one has had enough information to really make any impact on them. "He felt Lizzie's hand on his shoulder, under the collar of his overcoat and took the small comfort it offered. Harold Cooper wasn't an easy sell, but it was absolutely necessary that he know the truth. Once he had realized that Connelly and Cooper were old friends, he knew that Cooper could become a fulcrum point in this maze, one that he needed to have on his side.

"This is what the Cabal does, Harold. They create the narrative of chaos; deflect the attention of the world to one place, so that no one sees what's going on somewhere else. No one sees what's really happening. The tail is wagging the dog."

"You said no one has the information needed to expose them. How do you propose to get it?"

"We follow the money. We need to find the Trader."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Beta'd by the lovely **thefirstfewchapters**, thoroughly disclaimed. Hope you will enjoy!

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The photo of the man they called the Trader now took pride of place on one of the plexiglass display boards it the main room of the Post Office. Just underneath it was a single-page dossier on the arms dealer named Volkov. Lizzie and Red worked together, pinning up and connecting pieces of the puzzle so that everyone could see the picture beginning to emerge. From Volkov to the Trader, and from the Trader to the Cabal. They drew adjacent connections to Tommy Connolly, and to Tom Keen; showing the web that was being woven under everyone's nose.

Lizzie kept a watchful eye on her team mates, gauging their expressions and reactions to the information to which they were now privy. Ressler looked annoyed, but that was typical when Red was in the room. Lizzie always thought that Red was Ressler's trophy catch, the one that got away. It always seemed to irritate him that Red was working with them on cases and not answering for his crimes. Preferably in some desolate, maximum security prison. Life seemed simpler, more black-and-white for people like Donald Ressler. Lizzie had reason to know it was never that easy. Just as Samar likely knew as well. Just as Aram now knew. It was becoming an interesting study, psychologically, how just one man's presence could change so many people.

She watched Red as well, from the corner of her eye. His Concierge battle armor was fully locked in place. His every gesture, every expression, designed to create whatever feelings he needed others to feel, in order for him to get the results he wanted in the end. He was both mercenary, and manipulative, but Lizzie admired the level of skill she saw in him, even when he tried to use those skills on her. She just hoped that Red was learning that she wouldn't play into his hands as easily as she once had. She had seen the man beneath the three-piece armor, and she knew too much to be taken in again.

Raymond Reddington prided himself on his ability to work people. He supposed if he hadn't gone into the military and then become a criminal mastermind, he may have had a good career as a politician. Little chance of that happening now, of course, though he did own several US congressmen and a few elected officials in other countries. This was the part he was good at, the exposition, the strategy. It was possibly his favorite part of his former life in Naval Intelligence and certainly the most useful part. Once he had Harold Cooper on his side, the rest of the team would more easily fall in. They trusted Cooper, and Red banked on that. In his business, that sort of loyalty was bought and paid for with fear and bullets, Cooper gained it a different way, and if the truth were all told, Red was a little jealous.

He watched Lizzie out of the corner of his eye as he brought everyone up to speed on Volkov and the group of Chechen rebels he was working with; more accurately, he watched her watching the others. They had discussed the plan with Cooper in his office; he would contact one of his associates, whom he called Mr. Smith, who would seek out Volkov for the purpose of purchasing arms, Red would be at the meet-up and he would then be able to press Volkov for the information on the Trader. Since the Trader was the one laundering the money for Volkov, and also the Cabal, he was fairly certain it would be simple, if messy at the end.

Lizzie and Cooper had argued for taking Volkov into custody, but Red had dismissed the idea. If the others in the Cabal learned that the arms dealer had been snagged by the FBI, they would take steps that would render any intelligence the man might give them useless. In Volkov's line of work, being killed was far more likely than being captured.

Red needed to find the head of this snake. He would like to be able to cut that head off, but he knew the legend of the Hydra. He could do that, but then two more heads would take its place. It was better to learn as much as he could until he determined the appropriate counter measures to take. The Fulcrum was still in play, but he wanted to hold on to his only trump card. Right now, he would follow the money.

Lizzie found Red in her office, in her chair, no less, with his legs stretched out and his eyes closed. For a moment, she thought he was sleeping. But then, one green eye opened with a twitch of his lips and she chuckled under her breath.

"Cat napping, Red?"

"Of course not. Deep in thought."

"We have a location on Volkov. I still think I should go with you."

"Can't take the chance that Volkov might remember you. If he thinks I'm with the FBI, we'll get nothing."

"Fine, but I'm going to be outside, for backup."

Red knew better than to try talking her out of that. Lizzie was inclined to be stubborn to the point of foolhardiness sometimes. He found the trait oddly endearing and a little exasperating. This part of the plan was fairly simple. He had already contacted Mr. Smith and asked him to set the meeting with Volkov, he just had to show up at the appointed place and time. And try not to get killed, of course.

"All right. But stay out of sight, and bring Agent Navabi with you. Let Ressler stay on surveillance, I want to avoid banana peels." He stood carefully, brushing some imaginary dust from his suit jacket; he palmed his fedora and placed it on his head at its customary jaunty angle. Lizzie was still leaning in the doorway, watching him with a peculiar smile on her face. Red felt like he would give a great deal to know what Lizzie was thinking, and he was equally sure that she would never tell him.

Lizzie couldn't prevent the fond smile from working its way onto her lips. He was a dime-store magician, in a way, all smoke and mirrors. She knew underneath the jovial exterior was the heart and soul of a true predator; she wasn't foolish enough to think he was somehow a misunderstood hero. But she also understood his code now, as she hadn't before. It was simple really; he protected those he cared for, whatever he had to do to make that happen. He trusted very few, liked even fewer than that, and somehow she had managed to be in that rare subset.

She tried not to examine her feelings for him too carefully. She didn't trust herself with men yet; not after the Tom debacle. At this moment, however, she needed to get herself together and stop mooning around like a lovesick schoolgirl with a crush on the teacher. She shook her head to clear it, and followed Red into the main room to meet up with the rest of the team.

The warehouse where the meeting was to take place was dark. The FBI's communications and surveillance van was left down a side alley, with Ressler at the controls. Liz and Samar circled around the back of the building, scouting for good vantage points. Lizzie found an open window above a rusted fire escape and climbed though, knowing that Red would be pissed if he found out that she was in the building. She dropped on to a catwalk that circled the wide open warehouse floor below. She found a dark corner to hide in just in time as one of the huge bay doors began to open and Red's Mercedes drove inside, Dembe at the wheel. Red's associate, a man he called Mr. Smith, climbed out of the car and briefly checked his weapons. Now they only had to wait for Volkov.

Volkov's car pulled up and parked right behind Red's, which did not make Lizzie happy. It cut off any fast escape, but she knew Dembe would plow through the late model sedan if he had to do so. She shifted carefully, trying to stay comfortable without giving away her position. She could hear Samar and Donald talking quietly on the comm link. Volkov got out of the driver's side of the car, his restless eyes constantly scanning the surrounding area for any signs of a threat. Lizzie watched as he and Mr. Smith approached each other and shook hands, speaking so quietly she couldn't hear what they said. Red stepped silently from the car, with Dembe close behind him, Lizzie saw the moment Volkov realized that Red was there as his eyes flew from the pistols now trained on him to the open door of his own vehicle. Red's comm link was now active and Lizzie could hear the conversation.

"If it helps at all, it's not really you I'm after, Volkov. Small-time arms dealers aren't really my thing, but then you're not exactly small-time anymore are you? You survived the demise of Berlin's organization remarkably well, if I do say so. Kudos to you." Always lead with charm, that way you have a fallback position. Red had a feeling this was going to become very contentious, but since he had never intended to let the man live, he considered it par for the course.

"I don't know what you are after, but I don't have anything you would want."

"I want the Trader. I know you know him; I know he launders the money you make from the Syrian pipeline. Give me his alias and his location."

"Why would I give you this information, if I had it?" Volkov's hands twitched toward his jacket, fiddling with the snaps of the casual windbreaker. Red took for granted that he would be armed, he was hoping that the younger man would realize that he was outgunned.

Red kept his voice, calm, even reasonable.

"I can facilitate your escape from the trap into which you have so willingly blundered, provided you give me the information I need. "

The threat in his tone was palpable, Volkov swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his temples. Red knew what the arms dealer was going to do before he did it, so much so that it almost seemed to happen in slow motion. Volkov's hand went into his jacket and came out with a pistol; he fired three shots in rapid succession, almost without aiming at all. The door of the sedan Volkov had driven opened and a man who had been waiting inside managed a single shot before Dembe put a bullet between his eyes. Volkov was dead before he even hit the floor.

Lizzie had to move quickly once the shooting started. One of Volkov's bullets ricocheted off a steel container and grazed Lizzie's shoulder and she barely contained her cry at the burn of the bullet on her skin. She shimmied down the nearby ladder as fast as she could; only slightly hampered by the gun in her hand. She approached the men carefully, keeping her eyes peeled for any accomplices possibly lurking in the shadows.

Volkov and his companion lay dead on the concrete floor, eyes wide and staring into the void. Lizzie turned her head, slightly, even though it was not the first time she had seen dead bodies, it still shook her, the waste of human life. Red turned to her, and Lizzie paused. She could see the anger simmering in his eyes, but at the moment his focus was the business at hand. He holstered his weapon as the team came in to begin the clean-up. Mr. Smith excused himself, since his ride was waiting for him on the other side of the building. The bodies were bagged, but Lizzie was still tense. It didn't feel right.

"He came with muscle. He fired shots but he didn't aim at anything."

"He didn't come willingly, Raymond, I think he was sent," Dembe said, thoughtfully.

"You may be right, Dembe, let's check around the building, see if there are others." Lizzie spoke into her comm link, letting Samar and Ressler know that they were looking for additional possible suspects. She and Dembe both stepped outside the bay door, cautiously, working opposite sides of the building.

Lizzie was halfway down the alley when she heard it, a muffled thump and the roar of an engine from inside the warehouse as the late arms dealer's car reversed at high speed, careening around with a screech of tires as it sped off into the night. Lizzie and Dembe stood frozen for an instant before running back inside to find the warehouse empty, except for skid marks from the tires and a dark grey fedora.

"Did anyone check the trunk of the car?" Lizzie yelled into her mic as she ran with Dembe to Red's car. She leapt into the front seat as she heard the confused agents shouting outside and in her ear.

"Whoever just took off now has Reddington! It was a trap." She yanked her link off and threw it out the window as Dembe floored the accelerator, following the enemy through the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Well, this took much longer than I wanted. If this is readable at all, thank **thefirstfewchapters** for being my awesome beta, and thank you for sticking with me. As always I own nothing.

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Red's first thought as he slowly regained consciousness after that cheap shot to the head was that once again, he had lost a favored hat. It was disgraceful really, the disregard common criminals showed for the possessions of others. That thought, and the irony of it, would have made Lizzie's eyes roll emphatically had he spoken it aloud. He could imagine her sarcastic reply perfectly, complete with that slanted smile he adored; Yes, Red, she would say, it seems there is, in fact, no honor among thieves.

He was gaining ground against the darkness behind his eyes; he risked opening one eye first, just to see if he was being observed. He was alone, and appeared to be in an office judging by the industrial furnishings and the worn carpet under his feet. He was bound to a chair, on the visitor's side of the desk, with a view of a nondescript office park outside the window to his right. It was still dark, so he hadn't been unconscious for long. He crossed his legs at the knee, relaxing his posture as much as he was able to and waited to see what would happen next.

Lizzie was on her phone with Aram, who was tracking Reddington via the tiny GPS chip that was secreted way in Red's favorite watch. Dembe had given Aram the codes for the device as they had tried to follow the car that had taken Red. They lost the trail of the vehicle and so Aram had been enlisted to help. Dembe drove swiftly to a suburban office park of no consequence, following Aram's directions. It was well past time for the 9-to-5 crowd to be gone, only a scattering of cars remained in the parking lot. Aram's signal had gotten them to the general vicinity, but pinning down which of the several identical buildings Red might be in would be a bit harder.

Lizzie switched to her Bluetooth headset as she and Dembe exited the car and moved towards the first building, she needed both hands on her weapon to cover Dembe while they searched for Red. They moved to the first entrance, Lizzie keyed in the code that Aram fed her over the phone. The lock on the glass doors deactivated and they began to painstakingly sweep each floor.

Red was just beginning to wish for some reading material to relieve the tedium when the door opened behind him. An unremarkable looking man in a rumpled, inexpensive suit entered and took a seat behind the desk and smiled at Red.

His bland appearance would be deliberate. Red was fairly certain this man was The Trader, responsible for financing the powerful and corrupt alliance called the Cabal. If Red had learned anything in his years of playing on the wrong side of the fence, it was that if you always follow the money. Any group, even one as broad and powerful as the Cabal, needs a way to move funds without rousing suspicion. In the grand scheme, he was little more than a tool, but he was a tool with information.

"My name is Matthias Warner. I understand you've been looking for me, Reddington."

"Ah, good, you are the Trader. I wasn't exactly sure when I fed your name to the FBI, but this ties in so neatly with my list. You were number forty, by the way. I love being correct, even about these little things. You do know that this was all wholly unnecessary." He lifted his hands the small amount the zip ties would allow him. "I can think of several out of the way spots where we could have met, and we would all have been spared this nonsense. I have never cared for these mafia-style shenanigans. I'm a civilized man, after all." The Trader's jovial smile slipped a notch or two, and his fingers tightened around the pen he held.

"Civilized, Reddington? I have two dead associates to account for as a result of this evening. Volkov was a valuable asset."

"Volkov was a thug. You know it and I know it. He was a useful thug, but sooner or later, you would have replaced him. I did you a favor. At no charge, I might add."

"Well, then we will consider that I did you one as well, when I flipped your little canary in the Attorney General's office. So, we are even."

"That canary sings no more, of which I am sure you are also aware. So, what is your interest in the Attorney General's office, exactly? Are you recruiting?"

Matthias leaned back in his chair and fiddled with the buttons on his suit jacket. Red wanted to roll his eyes at the blatant tell, the man needed a better tailor and a better poker face, not necessarily in that order. He was getting restless now, waiting to see what the purpose of this little meet and greet was going to be.

"You know, Raymond, can I call you Raymond?" Matthias didn't pause for Red's answer, "The people I work for have let you go about your business for many years; as long as you kept in your place, stayed in the shadows, they were content. But you decided to come out and try to play poker with us, try to call our bluff so to speak and so we have nasty scenes like the one with Alan Fitch." He looked up at Red, who concentrated on keeping a blank face, not by even a flicker did he betray his feelings about the "scene" with Alan Fitch. On the contrary, his expression was as smooth as top cream as he lifted one eyebrow.

"You fed me to Berlin, made me the target of that madman's mission. Hoping I suppose, that he would what? Finish me? Distract me? You should all know me better than that by now."

"We hoped for the best."

Red huffed a laugh, almost against his will.

"Looks like we're both disappointed."

Lizzie and Dembe moved silently through the office building, checking every office and closet for the missing criminal mastermind. She cursed Anslo Garrick again in her thoughts for removing the DARPA chip from Red when he invaded the Post Office. On the third floor, Lizzie saw light shining through the bottom of a door down the hallway. She glanced at Dembe, who nodded; he had seen it as well. As they approached, they could hear voices. She recognized Red's gravelly baritone and another quieter, higher-pitched voice engaged in a discussion.

The man they called the Trader smiled.

"What is your involvement with Elizabeth Keen?"

Red struggled to keep the tension from showing in his posture. The last thing he wanted was the Cabal getting interested in Lizzie. Things they got interested in tended to disappear in an all too permanent fashion.

"What do you care about Agent Keen? She knows nothing of you."

"The very fact that you sit here is evidence to the contrary, Raymond. She may not know everything, but she is certainly capable of learning. So,what is she to you? You never keep a useless weapon in your arsenal, even if she is pretty."

"Pretty weapons are the sort I find most useful. Because everyone is so busy just thinking they're pretty, no one sees the danger until it's too late." And, as Red had reason to know, woe betide anyone who underestimated Lizzie Keen.

Dembe and Lizzie held their mutual breath outside the door. They could only hear one other person speaking with Red, but that didn't mean that there were only two people inside. Rather than charging into an unknown situation, which could get both them and Red killed, they needed to draw the occupants of that office out into the hallway. Lizzie pulled back the slide on her service weapon. Hopefully, this would work.

Outside the door, a gunshot rang out along with the sound of glass shattering. Matthias jumped from his chair, and slid a revolver from a drawer in the desk. He checked the chambers, clicked the cyllinder into place and moved to the door. The single shot was not followed by any further noise, he glanced suspiciously at Red.

"This would be your cavalry, I assume?" Red's blank stare was his only response. He was willing to bet Lizzie had found him and in true Lizzie fashion, she would take the most direct route to securing his release and her target. The Trader was a smart man, but all of Red's chips would stay on Lizzie.

Matthias opened the door quietly, taking a moment beforehand to switch off the lights. Red only saw his darker shadow leave the doorway, he hoped Lizzie had been wise enough to bring Dembe with her. He strained his ears in the dark, listening for any indication of what might be happening. A few muffled thumps were all he could pick up, and then silence. He twisted his wrists in their bindings, hoping he could stretch the plastic enough to slip them off, but to no avail. He froze as he heard footsteps in the hallway and a shadow slid inside the room.

"Are you injured, Red?" He heaved a sigh of relief as Lizzie knelt by the chair to cut his hands free, only poking him once or twice with the pocketknife in the process.

"Nothing a few aspirin and a large glass of scotch won't fix. Where's Dembe?" He stood, chafing his wrists.

"He's taken the guy downstairs. We got the drop on him down the hallway and knocked him cold. Is he the one we've been looking for?"

"Yes, he is. Come on, Lizzie, let's get out of here."

Dembe had secured the Trader's hands and feet and had tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He handed Red the revolver that Matthias had been carrying and smiled as Red tucked it under his vest at the small of his back.

"Should we expect resistance, Raymond?" Dembe's quiet seemed to echo in the empty hallway.

"Probably not. It's not their style to put up a fight over an asset. Especially one they think will be easy to replace. The trick is going to be keeping him alive long enough to get anything useful. Once they know we have him, they will try to eliminate the threat, and probably us as well."

The trio exited the building quickly and quietly, dumping their unwieldy cargo in the trunk of the sedan. In the back seat, Lizzie and Red both tried to dispel the tension of the situation. It worked to a point, but the adrenaline left them both jittery. Lizzie abruptly unbuckled her seat belt and leaned into the front seat, when she sat back she tossed something into Red's lap. It took him a moment in the darkness to identify it.

"Lizzie, you saved my hat." His laughter echoed in the shadows, and Lizzie smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N**: Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed this story. We've finally gotten to end now, and I hope you all enjoy it. Much love to my beta **thefirstfewchapters** for her excellent help throughout this project. This particular chapter however has not been beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.

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Reddington, Lizzie and Dembe returned to the Post Office, with the Trader, Matthias Warner trussed like a turkey in the trunk of the car, to the enthusiastic congratulations of the task force. Even Ressler offered a civil handshake. Truly, the agent was showing amazing progress. Red knew there would be a debriefing for all of the agents involved and set out to make himself comfortable while waiting for events to draw to their conclusions.

An hour later, Harold Cooper found him in Agent Keen's office, sitting quietly, reading a paperback book. He glanced up as Cooper entered the room.

"Matthias Warner seems to have gone missing. The Attorney General's office had requested his transfer to another detention facility. He was en route, in custody of the Marshals, but somehow, none of them ever arrived at the facility."

Reddington's eyebrows rose to an almost comical height as Cooper relayed the details of the mishap. He closed the book with a definitive snap and sighed.

"You see, Harold, I bring you a perfectly serviceable Blacklister and now you tell me you've already lost him. This is why we can't have nice things."

"Reddington, I'm telling you this because I know who requested his transfer. And if what you've told me about Tom Connolly is true, and it certainly seems that way, he is in this Cabal all the way up to his neck. And any evidence we bring, any assets we can turn, will disappear in much the same way."

"Until we can find a way to remove him from that office, you are most certainly correct."

Cooper sat down heavily in a nearby chair and rubbed his face with hands that trembled slightly from exhaustion. This job was tough enough; having to deal with the enigmatic Concierge of Crime on a regular basis would surely send him into early retirement.

Across the office, Reddington felt a small twist of sympathy for Cooper's frustration. He respected Harold Cooper a great deal, so this one time, he tried to alleviate some of the worry.

"I believe the incident you are speaking of is the work of another name on my list. A man called Houdini. He's an escape artist. He isn't Anslo, he doesn't come in like a wrecking crew; Houdini relies on stealth instead. If that is the case, the Trader is most likely in the wind now."

Cooper rose and turned to leave the office, then paused and looked back at the other man. Reddington's face was perfectly neutral. Harold Cooper would bet a chunk of his IRA that the man had something to do with what happened to Matthias Warner. Sadly, he was also sure it was better this way. If Warner had been transferred, as ordered, he likely would have been dead by sunrise, covered up neatly by noon.

"Well, if you hear anything helpful…"

Reddington gave his usual ambiguous, charming smile.

"I'll bring it straight to you, Harold. As agreed."

"Now I get to go explain all this to the team. Enjoy your book."

Cooper shut the door quietly behind him as he left and Reddington picked up the novel once more. Matthias Warner would be safe and sound, as long as he continued to prove useful.

The office she shared with Agent Ressler was dark when she finally opened the door. Ressler had gone home, but her debriefing had continued well past what most would consider sane. Lizzie flipped the switch on the desk lamp, starting only slightly at the figure of Raymond Reddington lounging in Donald Ressler's desk chair.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Lizzie."

"You didn't really. Well, not much. But I am definitely telling Ressler you were in his chair. I hope you didn't mess with the settings. He's very protective of it."

A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Undoubtedly, before he left, he would find some way to tweak the chair. Annoying Agent Ressler was a relaxing sort of hobby. Lizzie sat down at her desk, rolling her neck to release the tension that had built over the last few hours. He would offer her the services of his personal massage therapist, but he had a feeling that she would somehow take it amiss. They had built a sort of comraderie over the last week, the last thing he wanted to do was give her reasons to retreat from him again. Their trust was still fragile, and he treasured it more than diamonds.

"Debriefing went well, I take it?"

"It went as well as it could really. You heard about Warner's great escape?"

"I did. Cooper told me. Seemed to think I had something to do with it."

Lizzie's blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly on Red's face, because she would not put it past him. He had a way of protecting his most useful tools.

"Did you have something to do with it, Red?"

Red didn't answer but smiled at her in the shadow filled office. She looked so very young in the half light, full of that exhausted triumph that comes after you win such a battle. He doesn't want to tell her that the war is far from over. That the Cabal has a way of depriving one of even these minor victories. Matthias Warner, the Trader, won't ever see a courtroom. No protection is absolute, even his own. But he doesn't want to take the light out of his Lizzie's eyes yet.

Red looked so uneasy in Ressler's chair, Lizzie wondered what thought had crossed his mind to cause such a countenance. The puzzle pieces of the Cabal were falling into place, one by one. She was tired, but also anxious. It had been scary, working like that with Reddington, but she didn't want it to end. He had been right, back at the beginning; they made a good team. And if she knew him, and she thought she did, he was trying to find some way to sideline her. To put her back with the task force, nice and tidy and out of harm's way.

"I know what you're thinking, Red. And I want you to stop, right now."

"Oh, do you really? And thinking about a good glass of scotch and a steak dinner is not allowed in your presence?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes at his glib response.

"Stop it. You and I both know you are trying to figure out how to extricate me from your life right now."

"Lizzie, I want…"

"What about what I want, Red? Does that ever figure into your little machinations? The Cabal is still out there, Connolly is still in the Attorney General's office. We made a dent in their armor, but there's a lot of work to do. I want to help."

"Lizzie, I know you do and you have. I pulled you away from here because I was afraid for your life. But I think it's best if you return now that the immediate danger has been exposed and has passed."

"Until the next threat? Then you'll abduct me in the parking lot again? Red, you know I am far from helpless. I'm not some damsel in distress that needs saving."

Red's laugh was short and harsh. He had worked so hard to earn her regard; he never imagined that he would actively try to throw it away.

"I know that. I have never doubted your abilities. You've seen the life that I live right now; it changes people, and rarely for the better. Even the Trader, who had never met you, called you a weapon."

"A weapon?"

"A pretty one, if that helps."

"Not really, no."

"This is what I didn't want, Lizzie. If we keep working together like this, this closely, it will continue. This is what I do to people near me. They become weaponized versions of themselves in order to survive the world I live in. I don't want that for you, Lizzie. I only ever wanted you to be safe."

Lizzie sat back in her chair, slowly wending her way through the labyrinth of guilt and anxiety that Red had just shoved her into. She knew he wanted her to be safe, she understood it because she wanted his safety as well. She didn't want to be sent back to the bench, though, now that she'd finally gotten in the game.

"I get what you're saying Red, I really do. I don't want to die any sooner than I have to, and I don't want you to die either, if I can prevent it. So here is what I'm offering. I will go back to work with the task force, we will continue to hunt your blacklisters down. But you and I keep working on the Cabal, with Cooper as necessary. Because we've made some good progress, and if the Trader proves to have valuable intel then so much the better, but I know there is way more to this than even you know right now."

"I…"

"That's my offer, Red. Take it or leave it."

For a moment, she was afraid he would walk away. That she had pushed too far in order to stay close to him. She didn't fully understand why she felt it imperative, but she was learning to trust her instincts again. And her instincts told her that they needed each other. The tension in her shoulders eased when he finally smiled at her.

"In that case, how about dinner?"

Lizzie beamed at him, and he knew as long as he lived he would never forget that smile.

"Sounds great, I'm starved."

Lizzie stood, and Red moved to help her with her coat, unable to prevent himself from smoothing the dark hair that draped over the collar.

"Excellent, I know a wonderful little place…" Lizzie laughed as he followed her out of the office.

"Of course you do, Red. Of course you do."


End file.
